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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103517">Safe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles'>Wrathofscribbles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher, my only treasure [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They think they're safe, that they've neutralised every threat.</p><p>They're wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher, my only treasure [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They think they're safe, that they've neutralised every threat.</p><p>Ciri, there, curled in on herself, gagged and blindfolded, rocking towards Jaskier one moment and then Geralt the next when another blow lands and they're not fast enough to smother the pained grunt.</p><p>Geralt, by the fire, far too close to it, wrists and ankles bound and locked behind him in a series of knots that strain him from shoulder to thigh.  Steel in the set of his jaw, mangled only to heal and be mangled again, pain in the eyes flashing to Jaskier, to Ciri.  To their captors and the weapons, their positioning round the camp.  How many?  Too many, if he works free of his bonds there'll be three at least to plunge a dagger in Jaskier's neck, Ciri's heart.  Back to Jaskier again, helpless and <em>furious</em>.</p><p>But oh, that fury has nothing on what slinks through Jaskier's veins.  Not fire this time, no, but a chill from times gone by, ancient and creeping and <em>cruel</em>.</p><p>They think they're safe, they're wrong.</p><p>They think they've neutralised every threat, but they don't know <em>him</em>.</p><p>They're so focused on the <em>witcher</em>, they miss the dragon coming awake in their midst, the fangs drawing blood from his own mouth as they grow in, the fork in his tongue as it samples the air and their scents.  They don't hear the near-silent stretch and split of flesh and muscle in his back as wings push out.  They don't see the shadows wriggle and writhe around him, stealing his humanity and burying it in the embers of his eyes.</p><p>They <em>dare</em> harm <em>his</em>.</p><p>Revenge, it is said, is a dish best served cold.  And there are no flames in his maw when he clamps down on the nearest foe, crunching through armour as his human teeth do nuts, snapping his head from side to side until the body falls in three pieces.  They notice him <em>then</em>, they scramble and scream, and he rises above their panic with the rumble of thunder in his chest, snarling as he lashes out with claw and fang and tail.</p><p><em>Revenge </em>is a dish best served in<em> carnage.</em></p>
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